Foibles
by Alistair Ulven
Summary: "I just wanted to see you." Just a series of drabbles involving Draco and Hermione.
1. Part I

His eyes were pained.

This was something that seemed almost mystical to me back when I had first found out. There were a few things I'd associated with Draco Malfoy's eyes -steel, storm clouds, and ash- but never pain.

Yet, his eyes -those smoky grey depths-, they housed pain. It was usually never shown to anyone; always safely contained.

But there were times when his perfect mask would crack, and the pain would peek out over the apathy.

And the boy with the skin as pale as snow would break.

* * *

After his mother's passing, Draco refused to live in the manor anymore -he claimed it had too many ghosts, figuratively and literally. He now owned a small apartment outside of Muggle London, which he rarely ever inhabited because he'd gotten into the habit of paying me impromptu visits at my house, mostly in the dead of night.

Sometimes I found him in my living room after I woke up, sleeping fitfully on the old, patched-up sofa. His aristocratic features would more often than not be pinched into a frown, and strands of his usually gelled hair fell across his eyes. I would sweep the platinum locks away, and then cover him with a blanket.

He'd be gone by the time I get back from work, but once in a while, he would stay behind, and he'd conjure a bottle of champagne and pour us both a glass each.

He'd raise his glass to mine, and his lips would pull into a strained smile. If I asked him what we were toasting to, he'd only shake his head and whisper:

"Surviving, Granger, surviving."

* * *

I think the most accurate word to describe Draco's nightly visits would be 'strange'.

These visits had some kind of bizarre explanation, usually ranging from, "I found a rather unusual flavor of Bertie Bott's, thought you should try it" to "Granger, I forgot how to order a pizza again," or the extremely rare third explanation.

I would be lying if I said that my favorite out of those three asinine reasons wasn't the third one. He'd come up to me, and tuck a few stray strands of hair behind my ear before saying those magic words.

"I just wanted to see you."

I would also be lying if I said my heart didn't skip a beat at those words and I didn't get lost in those endless grey pools that were his eyes.

And then, for a fraction of a second, the walls would go down, and he would smile -he had a lopsided grin- and the pain in his eyes wouldn't seem so prominent.

But then, as if remembering that he was doing something he wasn't supposed to do, he'd step back and saunter to the sofa, stretching his long limbs over my cushions.

No words would be spoken again that night.


	2. Part II

**_Part II_**

Ron was never happy about Draco's visits, although both he and Harry claimed to have gotten past their old contempt for him, which lasted through the days of Hogwarts, until the final battle, when Draco helped the light.

He and Harry would see Draco in my house, poring over the Daily Prophet in just his drawstring pants, and Ron would purse his lips and nod curtly, a red vein popping out in his forehead, matching his hair.

Harry was more verbal about his disapproval, and once he asked me if I knew what I was getting into with Malfoy. I'd asked him what he meant by it, although I knew full well what he was talking about.

"I've seen the way you look at him. He's Malfoy, Hermione, nothing good is going to come out of... whatever this is," his green eyes were imploring, gleaming with what I recognized as concern. But it was wrongly placed.

I longed to tell him that he didn't who Draco really was -only the image of the sneering boy back at Hogwarts, and the former death eater. He didn't see the Draco that couldn't sleep at night because the nightmares were so bad, he woke up sweating. He didn't see the Draco that still visited his mother's grave with white lilies -her favorite, he told me once. He didn't see the Draco with the lopsided grin, and the far-away storm cloud colored eyes, that saw so much, and yet so little.

He didn't see the Draco who stopped by my sorry excuse of an apartment in the middle of the night just because he wanted to see me.

And I had a feeling that he never would - not him, and not Ron.

So I smiled, like Hermione always smiled, because that's the kind of person she was, and it seemed to calm Harry down a little, because the worried glint in his eyes died down just the tiniest bit.

Harry persisted.

"How do you know he's not going to hurt you, 'Mione?"

The smile didn't leave my face. I smiled at the boy who lived; my childhood friend, my brother.

"I don't, Harry, and that's the beauty of it."

I didn't think he'd ever understand that either.


End file.
